


Darts Made of Hummingbirds

by LiviKate



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Background Viktuuri - Freeform, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Future Fic, M/M, Otabek is sassy, Puberty, a little smut, ish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-02
Updated: 2017-02-05
Packaged: 2018-09-14 07:23:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9168073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LiviKate/pseuds/LiviKate
Summary: Yuri is struggling with his body as it changes. Otabek is struggling with his feelings about it.Otabek is struggling with the fact that he even has feelings about it.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Basically this is just fluff. There are a few unnecessary headcanons tossed in here.  
> ***There is one very incredibly quick mention of Yuri expressing concern about his weight and of Otabek worrying that Yuri might develop disordered eating.***  
> But he doesn't and we have two happy, healthy boys.
> 
> Katsuki Yuuri is referred to as Katsu or Katsudon, because this is from Otabek's point of view, and thats probably what Yuri calls him when they talk about him.
> 
> Title is taken from Neil Hilborn's poem Static Electricity, because it is pure like these two boys
> 
> ** So I went back through and read this thing again and oh my gosh there were so many terrible mistakes. So it's been edited now and hopefully is better

Otabek didn’t get to visit often. Sure, they were international superstars (in certain circles), but that meant training. And with training, came finishing high school, which he was already two years behind on, and making time for his family. Yuri was always training too, especially with how his body had been changing lately, causing him to work harder and more desperately to stay on top of his sport. The younger skater had even less motivation for school work than Otabek did, which wasn’t hard considering that Otabek actually quite enjoyed reading and learning and Yuri didn’t want to read anything that didn’t have picture or a war in it.

The point being, Otabek hadn’t seen his friend in eight months. If _friends_ was what they were. Otabek was fairly certain you weren’t supposed to dream about people who were just your friends. His palms got damp every time his snapchat notification went off. Facetiming Yuri was the best part of his day. He’d been known to stay up the three hours time difference so he could tell Yuri goodnight when the Russian was actually ready for bed. He thought that maybe you weren’t supposed to be in love with your friends.

Otabek also thought, however, that you were probably supposed to want to fuck your boyfriend, so that wasn’t right either. It wasn’t that Yuri wasn’t handsome, or gorgeous, or soft. It wasn’t that Otabek didn’t like touching him and kissing him. It wasn’t like Otabek didn’t like sex, he did. It just wasn’t something he thought of with Yuri. When they curled up together in hotel rooms during competitions in the two years they’ve know each other, friendship and love leading them to a casual and easy intimacy, it was never sexual. Otabek liked the feeling of blond hair flowing through his fingers as the two boys collapsed sleepily together, under the guise of watching reality TV. When Otabek rubbed his back, the thin frame feeling fragile under his hands, he didn’t feel any stirrings or heat, just love and appreciation. When Otabek was alone with his thoughts and his hands, he didn’t think about Yuri’s legs or ass or cock. He’d thought about his mouth once, and while it had been amazing at the time, it had left a feeling of shame in his stomach. He tried not to do it again.

Because the thing was, Yuri was young. He was young, and for all his face was beautiful and striking, his body _looked_ young. When they met, he didn’t have hair on his chest, barely any under his arms. His voice had always been low and dangerous as always, but hadn’t even begun to crack with changing hormones. He pulled his legs up into the air, bending every which way, and his stomach and chest moved with soft, childlike grace. For as much as Otabek loved him as a person and respected him as a skater, the thought of trailing his fingers down a hollow, hairless stomach didn’t make him hot with need, it honestly made him really uncomfortable.

He’d worried excessively about the first time they saw each other after Yuri’s sixteenth birthday. He loved him, considered them “together” in an undefined, nebulous sort of sense, and he was absolutely terrified that once he was sixteenth Yuri would try to have sex with him. He didn’t know what he would’ve done, if he could’ve done anything. Yuri didn’t seem to be thinking the same thing, however, when they met up again in some city, in some country, for some competition. Otabek barely remembered any of that. He just remembered how they talked in a coffee shop for hours and that when he slid his hand over to hold the Russian’s, it was like they had never let go.

Once the competition season ended, they tried to visit each other. They’d gone so far as to making plans and beginning to look for flights. And then Yuri woke up sweating in the middle of the night, a persistent ache in his legs and swollen knees. The pain became a constant obstacle and he grew half an inch in two weeks. Yakov cancelled the trip, saying Yuri couldn’t afford any distractions, not when his own body was working against him.

That was months ago, and Yuri was still growing. Most of their conversations now were about pain and frustration, Yuri unable to handle the faulty communication between his brain and feet. He complained about his balance changing drastically, his knees were always aching, his flexibility was taking such a hit that his muscles were always sore from constant stretching. Otabek could only listen from miles away as Yuri got more and more angry with himself. He could still remember the frankly terrifying conversation they had after Yuri stepped on a scale and found he’d gained more weight in two months than he had in the last year. Otabek had been as calm and soothing as possible while frantically Googling disordered eating and the warning signs he’d need to look out for.

Yuri’s attitude had gotten so rotten and his body had gotten so sore than Yakov finally approved a visit, saying that nothing was getting done with Yuri bitching all the time. The stipulation was that Otabek had to come to them, and that they would train together for the duration of his stay. It had taken a while for Otabek to sell his coach on the idea, but eventually she agreed to come along and he booked their tickets. He did not, in the slightest, miss the knowing (and judgmental) eyebrow she quirked at him when she offered to get an apartment for them and he informed her he’d be staying with Yuri. He didn’t need that judgment. Nothing was going to happen. He loved the younger skater, but not like that.

He was steady in those convictions, sure that sharing a bed with Yuri would be sweet and intimate and simple. He had no ulterior motives, despite what his coach, and Yakov, and Viktor, seemed to think. He loved Yuri, and while that meant everything to him, that was it. It was simple.

That is, until Otabek stepped off his plane and was nearly knocked over by a flying, blond projectile.

Yuri was laughing loudly in his ear, arms and legs wrapped around his body, squeezing tightly. Otabek was grinning foolishly and laughing in return, dropping his carry on in favor of wrapping around Yuri’s slim form. He was still slim, yes, but the boy felt different under his arms. His middle was no longer soft and small like a child’s. Otabek squeezed around him and felt a tight strength to his core. He slid one hand to his thigh to help hold him up and felt hard, thick muscle, where before Otabek could’ve spanned the widest part of his leg with his palm. Yuri held on with arms that were lithely muscled and shoulders that stretched far broader than before.

“I missed you,” Yuri said, burying his face in Otabek’s neck.

“I missed you, too,” he answered. He was selfishly regretful when Yuri unwound his legs and dropped back to the floor. Otabek’s eyes widened noticeably when Yuri smirked at him, popping on eyebrow in a sassy smile.

“I’m as tall as you now,” he said, and Otabek could barely believe it.

“You must’ve grown four inches since I last saw you,” he said, feeling strangely short of breath.

“Five,” he corrected. “Good thing, too,” Yuri said quietly, leaning in. “Makes it easier to do this.” He pressed their lips together and it was just as soft and sweet as Otabek had remembered, from the last time they were in an airport. But the last time, Yuri’s arms had been wrapped around his shoulders, pulling him down. Now they just rested there, and Otabek’s neck was relaxed and he thought he could stand like this forever.

Their lips released with a dry whisper, just as chaste as it had always been, and Otabek was thankful for the taste of normalcy. Especially when Yuri took his hand in one that was far different feeling than the one that had waved him away six months ago.

“Oh, he’s here too,” Yuri said, gesturing shortly to Viktor who was waving a moderate distance away, holding Yuri’s leopard print jacket, presumably where he dropped it to launch himself at his… Otabek. He would need to figure out what they were, if he was going to find a way to tell his sister about this trip. It seemed a lot of things were different for this trip.

“Get the car, old man,” Yuri yelled rudely, though he had a smile on his face. Some things never changed.

 

-.-- ..- .-. .. / .. ... / --. .-. --- .-- -. --..-- / --- - .- -... . -.- / .. ... / ... .... --- --- -.-

 

It was a good thing Otabek arrived early in the morning, because the first thing they did was head to the rink.

“What about my stuff?” Otabek asked.

“Viktor said he’d take care of it,” Yuri said, a smug smile on his face, the kind that could only be found in the very slight curve of his lips and the sparkle in his eye.

“He doesn’t have to do that,” Otabek protested, stopping in his tracks, and halting Yuri too, by the grip they had on each other’s hands.

“No, it’s a punishment, he owes me,” Yuri scowled. “I caught him and Kastudon having sex again in the hallway, so he’s making it up to me.”

“The hallway?” Yuri shuddered. “Ever think moving in with them was a bad idea?” Otabek asked, eyebrows raised almost imperceptibly.

“Everyday,” Yuri said with a slight smile that told the opposite story. Otabek felt his face melt as he looked at him, softening into something that he hoped wasn’t as obvious as it felt. Yuri saw it anyway, and swayed forward to brush a shy kiss to the corner of his lips. “I’m really glad you’re here,” he whispered. “I missed you a lot.”

Otabek had just opened his mouth to reply when a loud squeal broke through the air.

“It’s Otabek! Yurio’s little teddy bear! C’mon, share the cuddles!” Mila shouted, racing towards them on the ice, stopping against the barrier with a bang and a spray of ice. She hung over and extended her arms, as if expecting a hug.

“Back off, Mila,” Yuri snorted, wrapping his free hand around Otabek’s arm, pulling it against his chest.

“Hag,” the Kazakh said shortly, winking at Mila and relishing in the bright as a bell laugh that Yuri spat at her.

Practice was enlightening, however.

Yuri wasn’t terrible, he could never be terrible at anything involving ice and blades. But his body didn’t cooperate as before, and he was constantly overcorrecting, unfamiliar with the new ways this body wanted to move. His shoulders were heavier and his legs were less flexible so his spins were lopsided and sloppy. The pain in his legs and knees took much of the strength from his jumps, which only made him angrier and more careless about his form. His eyes were frustrated and dark around the edges from lack of sleep. If he’d looked like a solider when he was a child, he was a veteran now, complete with pain and nightmares keeping him awake at night.

He was still breathtaking, though. His long, blond hair escaped his braid around his face, and his cheeks were red from the cold. He glared at the world around him, taking every step like it was a personal challenge. He was clumsy in this new body, but it was strong and Otabek could feel the concentration as Yuri willed it to work in all the ways he needed it to. He was just was striking as he remembered.

If seeing Otabek had brightened his mood, skating with him did not have the same effect. The Kazakh could see the younger boy struggling to protect him from his foul attitude, flashing him a thumbs up and a crooked smile with empty eyes whenever he landed a tricky quad or received praise from his coach. When they finally left the ice, Yuri was quieter than before, head hanging so that he wouldn’t meet the eyes of any of his rinkmates, those that had watched him grow and succeed, only to see him stumble now, tripping over his own toes.

Yakov drove them home, to Viktor’s, coaching him all the way. His feedback was true and constructive, from what Otabek had seen, but it caused the slow crawl of Yuri’s shoulders to his ears. Otabek gripped his hand and Yuri squeezed back, giving him what passed for grateful look through his hair.

When they got to the apartment Viktor and Kastu were gone, so Yuri collapsed on the couch, sweaty and exhausted. Otabek huffed a quiet laugh before coming where his head lay and moving to sit, fingers already itching to play with his hair, to help the boy relax. Not because he liked the feeling of those silken strands slipping through his fingers, longer now than he’d ever seen it. No, not for that at all.

“No,” Yuri whined, scooting up to prop his head on a pillow. “Sit here instead.” He lifted his legs and the older skater begrudgingly took the hint and slid underneath. He squeezed his thighs gently, just above the knees and Yuri groaned.

“Are you sore?” he asked.

“Always,” came the pathetic reply.

“I can help with that,” Otabek said, smiling slightly at how relaxed and open Yuri was with him behind closed doors. He didn’t need to posture and pretend to be invincible. Otabek liked seeing his weaknesses; they reminded him that this angel under his hands was, in fact, human. He set to work rubbing the tension out of his muscles, kneading through the long lengths of his thighs and calves until they were limp and relaxed in his lap. He cupped his warm hands over each of his knees, kissing them through his leggings and massaging the attachments, hoping to take some of the ache out of his joints. Yuri whimpered when Otabek scooted back far enough to cup his feet. His ankles were badly bruised from falls and his toes were red and blistered in the oddest places.

“Your skates are too small,” Otabek diagnosed, pressing his hands on either side of his foot, flattening the toes where they had curled into the end of his skates.

“We ordered new ones, but they won’t be here for another week,” Yuri mumbled from under his elbow, one arm tossed over his face. “None of my clothes or shoes fit right anymore.”

“Then we’ll have to get you more.” The older boy brought one foot to his face, pressing a dry kiss to his instep. Yuri wiggled, pulling his foot back.

“Don’t do that, they probably smell.”

“Probably?” Otabek teased, laughing when the other boy tried to squirm away. “I don’t mind,” he assured him when he saw the dark stain of a blush on the boy’s cheeks. He rubbed his feet, massaging gently and trying to avoid the worst of the blisters.

He was glad Yuri covered his eyes with his arm as he worked, it gave him the opportunity to stare openly. He thought that he probably couldn’t call Yuri a boy anymore. He was seventeen already and finally beginning to look it. His shoulders were wider now, taking up the physical space that Yuri had occupied before with sheer snark and aggression. Baby fat Otabek hadn’t noticed before was suddenly gone from his cheeks, his features sharper now, not dulled by the pixels of his phone screen or the softness of childhood. Otabek squeezed his hands over his feet and felt hair on the tops of his feet and toes.

He was struck with the desire to pull the clothes off his friend and see where else hair had filled in, the soft curves of his body now hardened and tempered.

Otabek shook his head, scattering the thoughts. He pressed a kiss to the second foot and kept working. Before long, Yuri was dozing off, looking familiar in sleep, soft and vulnerable again. Otabek let him rest for an hour or more, studying him, taking in the image of him, finally in flesh after so long. He took a few photos, set one at his home screen and then locked it, hoping to never have to explain that one to the other man.

Before too long though, he woke him with a kiss, and sent him off for the first shower, promising to start dinner. Otabek thought that he would have to keep kissing him like this, leaning over the couch, contriving other ways to kiss the man so that he would still have to lean up to reach his lips. The blond grinned at him, open and kind, before standing up and ducking in for another chaste kiss. Otabek thought he could get used to that, too.

 

\- .- .-.. .-.. / -.-- ..- .-. .. / .. ... / -- -.-- / .- . ... - .... . - .. -.-.

 

It was the next day, after a much worse conditioning practice, made even more embarrassing by Yuri floundering through ballet class, that found them in Yuri’s bed. Otabek was once again kneading soothing hands into the meat of his partner’s thighs, this time with the boy flat on his stomach. He was whining that the backs of his legs were tight, sore from stretching in an attempt to recover his splits.

He was upset, embarrassed, tired and frustrated. So he was complaining. Loudly.

“I’m so fucking angry all the time,” Yuri confessed into his pillow, shivering and twitching occasionally under the Kazakh’s hands, now smoothing over his back. He sat to the side of him, the side his face was tilted towards, so he could look at him when he spoke. And to avoid the awkwardness of straddling his ass. “Every part of me hurts, I can’t sleep, I can’t do the one thing I’ve always liked doing.”

“You’ve always liked pissing Viktor and Katsu off,” Otabek reminded him. “You can still do that.”

“It’s not as fun anymore,” Yuri whined. “They just feel bad for me and tell me that my emotions are valid and understandable.”

“Those bitches,” Otabek said consolingly.

“I know right,” Yuri sighed as Otabek worked a knot of tension out of his shoulders. He sighed again, gustily, the exhale brushing over the other skaters knee. “Everything sucks, I hate everything right now.”

Otabek resisted the urge to argue. But apparently, something showed on his face anyway. He was starting to grow concerned that Yuri could read his face better than he could control it now.

“What was that?” the younger man asked gruffly.

“What was what?”

“You just moved your eyebrow and grunted a little.”

“So?”

“That’s what you do when you think I’m wrong about something,” Yuri challenged, eyes narrowing, and it would’ve looked threatening had his face not been mostly smushed into his pillow.

“I don’t think everything sucks,” Otabek said honestly. “I’m sorry you’re in pain and upset, but I don’t think you should hate what’s happening to you.”

“What could you possible think is the bright side of this?” Yuri asked, his voice grumpy but genuinely curious.

“Your body… is changing,” Otabek said slowly, choosing his words carefully. The hands that had been massaging, he noticed, had now just gentled into caressing. He took them away and put them in his lap. Yuri flipped over onto his back, looking at him carefully.

“And that’s a good thing?”

“Isn’t it?” Otabek asked, eyes drawn to the sliver of skin exposed where his tshirt had twisted around him. There was a line of blond hair on his stomach. It looked like spun gold. “You’re starting to look like a man.” Yuri huffed and crossed his arms.

“So?” he asked, and his shirt pulled up even farther. Otabek saw that his hip bones were no longer jutting under his skin as sharply as before, instead they were now wrapped with more muscle, a graceful vee framing that line of hair.

“I love you, Yura,” he said honestly, drawing his eyes to meet his partner’s. “I love you no matter what you look like.” Yuri’s face went soft and open at that, eyes fluttering softly as his hair fell into them. Otabek continued with a shrug and a blush coloring the tops of his ears. “Some guys like men that look like girls, some guys like men that look like boys.” He looked down at the hands folded into his lap. “I like men that look like men. And you’re starting to look like that.”

“Oh,” Yuri said, a blush settling across the bridge of his nose. Otabek didn’t know what to say, so he didn’t say anything. It was quiet for a moment while Yuri absorbed and Otabek told himself he should never be embarrassed for saying something that was true. “You know,” Yuri began, his fingers distractedly petting his cat who laid down on the other side of him. “I always kind of thought that you liked the way I looked, before, and that now I might not be your type, or whatever.”

“You are very much my type,” Otabek affirmed, brushing his fingers across Yuri’s cheek.

“I thought that maybe you’d get bored, because I wasn’t ready for, you know, sex stuff, or whatever. Because you wanted to do that kinda stuff, you know, with me before all of this happened” Yuri said, stumbling over the words as blood rushed to color his cheeks, gesturing to his body and all its changes.

“I’d never get bored of you,” Otabek said simply.

“Do you want to have sex with me?” Yuri blurted out, looking like he wanted to pull his shirt down, suddenly self-conscious, but was resisting, allowing himself to be looked at. Otabek let his gaze linger, first at his face, blushing pink and shy, before trailing down his long neck and broader shoulders, his forearms beginning to show definition and strength, his stomach tight and strong, his legs long, so unforgivably long.

“Yes,” Otabek said gruffly. “I think you’re gorgeous, and I want to do that with you.” His own cheeks grew hot. “But, um. Not yet.” He didn’t think he was ready, he was fairly certain Yuri still wasn’t. With Yuri’s body changing, it was new to him every single day. He wanted to make sure Yuri was comfortable in his own skin before he let someone else touch him like that. Besides, Otabek was in love, moreso than he thought he’d ever be, and he wanted to take care of that love, to grow it like a rose. He didn’t want to mess anything up.

He didn’t say any of that. Just a simple “not yet.” But Yuri could read him better than anyone else in the world, and when he nodded simply and said “Okay,” Otabek thought that he probably understood well enough.

“Do you still want to, um, do what we usually do?” Yuri asked, blushing furiously, and looking past his partner to the door, as if the mere mention of cuddling would bring Viktor and Katsudon into his room to tease him for it.

“Is that okay?” Otabek asked, and when the Russian nodded, he stretched out next to him, wrapping an arm around his middle, brushing his fingers across that pale line of hair on his stomach. They scratched against his knuckles and Yuri sucked in a breath. The both relaxed against each other soon enough, Otabek tugging down Yuri’s shirt to cover the temptation, breathing gently together in a way that was familiar, even if the way they fit together was entirely different.

Yuri turned on his TV and the found a movie to watch that neither of them cared for much to help fill the room. They talked, quietly, about Otabek’s family and Yuri’s grandpa, about where to go for dinner and if they should invite Viktor and Katsu. They talked about the upcoming competition season and about if Yuri would be ready in time. They kissed, gently and without hurry.

It was during one such kiss that Yuri whispered against his lips.

“I love you, too, you know.”

Otabek grinned and kissed him again. Some things were still the same.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> People asked for a second chapter so here it is ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ Is it unnecessary? Yes. Is it a little sexy? Also yes.

After a grueling week of practice together, both their coaches agreed to give the boys the weekend off, with only runs and off ice conditioning. They’d just gotten back from a yoga studio Otabek was trying out, already missing the one he had in Almaty. Yuri’s body felt warm and gooey, having stretched his muscles past the soreness plaguing them and released more tension than he knew he could carry. He collapsed backwards onto his bed, splayed out and peaceful for the first time since he woke up to pain shooting through his limbs.

Misha hopped up onto the bed, tail swishing importantly.

“Hey girl,” he said, raising one hand and allowing her to slide under it. Her back was wet. “Were you playing with Makkachin again? I need to tell Viktor to keep his dog from slobbering all over you.”

“I hardly think it’s his fault,” Otabek said, swinging the bathroom door open with a cloud of steam. He had clean shorts slung low on his hips and a towel draped around his neck. His hair was wet and dark, curling at the ends to just tickle at one of his ears.

Yuri’s mouth was dry as he watched drops of water roll down his chest. He’d looked before, but only with darting eyes and blushing cheeks, knowing that whatever he felt wouldn’t have been a possibility. Now, though, the heat under his skin felt electric.

“It’s Misha’s fault for giving Makka such a hard time. He’s old, she’s the one always trying to bait him,” the older boy said, walking towards the stand of drawers Yuri had emptied for him.

“That is so not fair,” Yuri defended, sitting up. He scooped Misha up and held her under her arms, facing his partner. “Look at her face and tell her she deserves to be slobbered.” Otabek abandoned his rummage through his drawers to come towards the bed, ducking his head so he was eye to eye with the cat.

“You deserve to get slobbered, you little troublemaker,” he pronounced seriously, holding her golden eyes before dropping a kiss on her nose. “That goes for you too,” he said, looking around the cat to Yuri.

“Oh yeah?” he teased back, dropping the cat and letting her pool down to his lap and then to the floor. “Who’s gonna slobber on me? You?”

“You wound me,” Otabek said, pressing his hand to his still bare chest. “I don’t slobber, I’m a great kisser.”

“Who told you that?” Yuri scooted to the edge of the bed and grabbed the ends of the damp towel looped around the older boy’s neck.

“I haven’t gotten any complaints,” he said with a smirk, allowing himself to be pulled into the space between Yuri’s knees.

“That doesn’t mean you’ve gotten compliments.”

“You don’t like the way I kiss you, Yura?” he murmured, head titled down into Yuri’s space, voice low and dangerous. He wasn’t playing fair at all.

“Maybe you just need more practice,” he suggested breathlessly, shifting even closer to the edge, closer to his boyfriend’s emanating heat. Otabek smirked, and Yuri saw it close up, watching his lips move.

In seconds those lips were on his, kissing him soundly. His fingers curled where they held on to the towel. Otabek’s lips were soft, always impossibly soft against his. Beka hummed against him, like kissing him was his favorite thing in the world.

“How was that?” he asked, barely pulling away, letting their lips drag together. Yuri wanted to think of a witty reply, but honestly he wanted to kiss him again more. He yanked him back in with his grip on the towel, before pushing it off his shoulders and cupping the back of his head in his hands. He scratched in fingers through the short hair and heard the rumble deep in the other skater’s chest.

He did it again, and this time he felt the sound, when Otabek wrapped his arms around him and pulled their chests together. He gasped into the kiss and felt Beka’s tongue flick at his lip. He moaned, fisting one hand in the hair at the top of his head. The older boy growled against him. It was unlike anything Yuri had ever heard from the other man, sounding hungry and desperate. The Russian flexed his wrist, tugging at the hair in his grip and Beka’s jaw dropped open on a helpless pant. Yuri took the initiative and licked inside, sealing their lips together again. Otabek’s hands slid from around him, gripping him around his ribs, feeling the new heft to him, before sliding up to his arms.

For a moment, Yuri was worried he would pull away, use his grip on his upper arms to extract himself from his hold. But Otabek just hummed into the kiss, hands squeezing his biceps, feeling their strength. Yuri smirked against his lips and flexed.

“Not fair,” the other boys complained hungrily, dropping his hands to grab his thighs instead, kneading into the soft, relaxed muscles before gripping tightly and yanking him even closer against his body. They were pressed together from groin to lips. “Okay?” he asked, hands suddenly light on his skin, as if his touch might ever be unwelcome.

“Yes,” Yuri hissed, biting at his lip before extracting one hand from his hair to cup his razor sharp jaw, titling his face up. Yuri bit at his jawbone, severe and prickly, before ducking his head under and sucking pink kisses into his throat. Otabek released a surprised and delicious little “Ahh” as Yuri bit gently, flickering his tongue in a pattern that might’ve spelled his name. The older boy’s hands were gripping his knees tighter, like he was holding onto his control, his sanity, with all ten fingers. It was beginning to aggravate the ache in his joints.

“C’mere,” Yuri coaxed, slightly breathless. He pulled at his shoulders, getting his own knees back underneath him and tugging him forward on the bed.

“Yura,” Otabek warned, eyes closed tightly, head still tipped towards the ceiling. “We should wait.”

“I know, I know,” the younger boy said, pulling on him all the same. “I just need to keep kissing you.”

The Kazakh boy collapsed like a building, falling forward onto the Russian skater and following him down to the blankets, kissing him desperately. Yuri pulled and pushed at him until he was lying down, his damp hair leaving wet marks on his pillow. Yuri stretched out on top of him, body long and slinking, like a big cat. He braced his hands on either side of his shoulders and dipped his head to lick a long stripe up his partner’s neck, ending with a kittenish lick of his tongue against his ear.

Otabek moaned, quietly through closed teeth and gripped his narrow hips sharply. Yuri moved to lay against him, straddling one thigh. The younger skater want to feel the strength of his body, want to be pressed together. Otabek held him back, though, holding his hips up and away from him. Yuri laughed, a quiet, rumbling sound pressed to the space behind his ear as he let himself hang limply in his hands.

“What do you want?” he asked, propping himself up on his elbows and letting the older man hold them in place in the air above him.

“I don’t know,” Otabek replied, sounding truly conflicted, hands flexing again, feeling the tightness of strength in his hips, curling around the sharp angle of his bones.

“How’s this?” Yuri said, taking mercy on the other man and settling himself on one hip and supporting his weight on one elbow, pressed against his side. He flattened one hand against the heave of his partner’s chest. Otabek reached up with his far arm and buried his hand in his wild, blond hair.

“Amazing,” he whispered, pulling him back to his lips. Yuri sighed against him, turning into him more fully, bringing his knee, settled between Otabek’s thighs, up as he pulled in closer. When he met the hot, hard heat at the apex of his thighs, Otabek moaned croakily into his mouth.

Yuri pulled back in surprise, looking down at the hard shape of Otabek lined up against the lean muscle of his thigh.

“Whoa,” he said, mostly to himself. Otabek chuckled, sounding strained. “You want me.”

“You know I do,” Otabek said, dropping his hand from the back of his skull, but keeping a few strands of hair in between his fingertips.

“Yeah, but I didn’t _know_ ,” Yuri insisted, shifting against him, pressing his knee against him again. Otabek sucked in a breath, his stomach contracting. Yuri liked the way his muscles flexed against his body, feeling his abs shift against his inner thigh. “Can I see you?”

“God, Yura, what are you trying to do to me?” he asked, covering his face.

“I’ve never seen one in real life, other than mine,” Yuri insisted, curiosity lighting up his mischievous smile. “Well, and Viktor’s, but that shouldn’t count.” Otabek looked at him sharply.

“Why have you seen Viktor’s cock?” Otabek asked, and the shape of Otabek’s mouth as he said the word ‘cock’ made Yuri need to kiss him. He wheezed, mirth draining from his features, chased away by the want coursing through him. He leaned in again, pressing his own twitching cock against his hip. Otabek stopped him with a hand on his shoulder and an incredulous look on his face. “Don’t try to distract me. Why have you seen Viktor’s cock?”

“I’m not trying to distract you,” Yuri said breathlessly, his hips jerking against him. “I just like hearing you say the word ‘cock.’”

“O Құдайым-ай,” Otabek grumbled in Kazakh, and that got Yuri even harder and more breathless as he attacked his partner’s mouth, grinding against him firmly.

“Fuck, you sound so good,” he groaned into his mouth. He shifted on top of him so he could grab his face with both hands and press his dick into the curve of his hip. Otabek groaned, sounding a lot like giving up, before he kissed back desperately, kicking his hips up against him and wrapping one arm around his waist to hold him close. His hair started to fall around them, some slipping into their kiss. Otabek scraped it back, his hand large and brusque as it pulled his hair back and held it in a fist at the back of his head.

Yuri let one hand drift down to feel the flexing and rolling of his boyfriend’s stomach as he pushed his hips up again and again. The pressure against his dick was heavenly, so much better than anything he’d felt before, better than his own hand, or his fingers inside himself. He hadn’t touched himself much lately, not since his body had started feeling so tight, so aching, so very much not his own. His brain was emptying out under the white noise of lust crashing through him, he hummed into the kiss. His skin felt alight, felt aflame. His soft leggings were starting to feel unforgivably tight and hot.

He slipped his hand over Otabek’s skin, his mouth open to the crusade of his boyfriend’s tongue. His fingers slipped through the sparse hair on his stomach, skittering restlessly over the soft expanse. He moaned as he followed the trail with his fingertips, finding the waistband of his shorts having been pushed low by the rolling of their hips. He let his fingers find the fabric just over the head of his cock. He pressed gently and felt wetness there.

Otabek gasped, tilting his head back, breaking away from his kiss to pant at the ceiling.

“Yura,” he said and the blond moan at how good his name sounded like that, broken and desperate, his voice thick with wanting him. “Yura, enough.”

“Bek, I’m so close,” he confessed to the space under his jaw, hips jerking of their own volition.

“Stop, Yuri, please,” Otabek said, his voice louder but still shaking as he grabbed his hips to still them.

Yuri pushed himself up onto his hands and knees, like ripping off a bandaid, until none of their skin was touching.

“Wow,” he said, feeling how swollen his lips were, looking down at Beka, his shirtless chest flushed, abs still twitching, dick barely contained by the waistband of his shorts.

“We can’t,” the other man said, both of his hands leaving Yuri’s body to cover his face, as if the sight of his alone was too much temptation. Yuri preened.

“Why not?” he asked, still all to aware of the hot heat weighing down the front of his leggings. He had never been this aware of his dick.

“I don’t remember,” Otabek confessed from underneath his palms.

“We don’t have to do everything,” Yuri said quietly, dipping his head to press light, teasing kisses to the flushed skin of his boyfriend’s chest. “We can just do this, save the rest for when we’re ready.”

“I’m not ready for this,” Otabek said, pulling away. He scooted back on the bed, until he was out from under the other man and could sit up, crossing his legs. He wouldn’t meet his eyes. Yuri sighed, a short sound of frustration before mirroring his posture, pulling a pillow into his lap to wrap around.

“Why not?” he asked again, sounding petulant even to his own ears. “It’s not like I'm trying to have sex with you.”

“Arent you?” Otabek asked, raising a singular eyebrow.

“I mean, no,” Yuri said blushing. “I didn’t think we were gonna do _that._ ”

“What is “that”?” Otabek asked, getting visibly frustrated, which meant he was the most frustrated and emotional as Yuri had ever seen him. “You said you were close.”

“Yeah,” Yuri shrugged, suddenly embarrassed. He was definitely not hard anymore. “But we weren’t going to have sex.” Otabek gave him an incredulous look.

“What was about to happen?” he asked, and Yuri stiffened at how condescending he sounded. “You were about to come on me, that definitely would’ve made me come, that’s sex.”

“No it’s not,” Yuri defended, pink all the way to his ears. “Sex is, you know, _sex._ ” He hoped emphasis would get his point across. The flat look on Otabek’s face didn’t give anything away.

“So because one of us wasn’t going to fuck the other, then it’s not sex?” he asked in a way that made it obvious it wasn’t actually a question.

“I mean, fuck, Beka, we’re not even naked!” Yuri exclaimed, hiding his embarrassment behind bravado and frustration. Otabek’s expression cracked into one of hurt.

“We were about to come together. For the first time. And kiss and cuddle afterwards. You don’t think that’s special? That doesn’t mean anything to you?” The disappointment in Beka’s voice broke Yuri’s heart. He tossed the pillow aside and slid across the bed and into his boyfriend’s lap, wrapping him in a tight hug with all of his limbs.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered into the top of head, nuzzling his cheek into his still damp hair. “I didn’t mean it like that, you’re right. I just, I got,” he stuttered, embarrassed. “I’m sorry.”

“I love you,” Otabek said into his chest, arms looping around his waist.

“I love you, too,” Yuri said, scratching his fingers through the short hair at the back of his head.

“I want to wait. Until we’re on the same page.” Yuri nodded against him.

“Okay, we wait,” he said, a small ball of tension between his shoulders unraveling. They stayed like that for a while, with Yuri petting his boyfriend with soothing motions in his hair and down his back.

“Yura?” he asked after several minutes. Yuri hummed to let him know he was listening. “Why have you seen Viktor’s dick?”

Yuri laughed, loud and obnoxious, the lingering seriousness in the room evaporating as Yuri flung himself backwards, bouncing on the bed with his laughter.

“It’s not funny,” Otabek protested, though he was laughing, too, extracting himself from the circle on his legs so he could lie down next to the other boy.

“It is, though,” Yuri said, turning his head to look at him with eyes bright with joy. “Are you jealous?”

“No,” Otabek grumbled, crossing his arms with a put upon scowl. “I’m just concerned. He is way older than you.” Yuri laughed again and wiggled his way under his arm, resting his head on his bare chest.

“He and Katsu keep having sex all over the apartment. I’ve caught them twice already, it’s been horrible.”

“Oh, that’s not so bad.”

“I just said it was horrible!” Yuri squawked, trying to turn under his arm to glare at him. Otabek just held him down against him, pressing a kiss to the top of his head.

“I hope that doesn’t happen while I’m here,” he said simply, and Yuri could hear the slight smile in his voice.

“How long will you be here?” he asked, breaching the topic they had thus far ignored.

“However long I can be,” his partner answered faithfully, holding him close, close enough that Yuri was sure he would never let go.

**Author's Note:**

> I write Otabek a little less mature than his canonically age, not to close the gap between them, because three years is fine, but because I think he probably missed out on high school and doesnt have a lot of friends his age, so he probably doesn't have the same maturity and experience as other 18-20 year olds. So thats why that is. Comment and let me know if you have prompts or just want to scream about headcanons.


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